


we used to

by mintgreyashes



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Other, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 14:24:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18704110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintgreyashes/pseuds/mintgreyashes
Summary: and 'oh,' peter thinks. 'i'm dying, aren't i?'he closes his eyes.he thinks death feels a lot like falling asleep.





	we used to

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(tell me why) the world never fights fair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086733) by [fourleafchloe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourleafchloe/pseuds/fourleafchloe). 



  
The story happens like this.

Peter Parker is thirteen when he gets bit by a radioactive spider on a field trip, and there wasn't any need for his glasses or inhaler anymore.

He is thirteen when Uncle Ben dies, and he feels the blood coating his hands, scent of iron overpowering the air, the nausea curling unpleasantly within him and the thought that _god— why hadn't he— why hadn't he saved him?_

Peter Parker is thirteen when Spider-Man walks into his life, and he fights crime so that no parent would have to bury their kid.

And no kid would _ever_ have to bury their parent.

For a while, it's enough.

Peter is happy, proud of what he's accomplished, proud that he's helping to save lives.

But it is when he is fourteen that Mr Stark walks into his life, charismatic and strong and so, so distant.

And suddenly it's not enough.

He had wanted more.

Feelings that had been buried away since his parents— since _Ben— He had wanted Tony to notice him. To be proud of him. Like a parent-_

Then the Vulture happens and _the building— and when he couldn't breathe—_

_"Breathe, kid. Follow my breathing, okay? Hold your breath and count to three. That's right. I've got you, kid."_

Peter Parker is fifteen when he manages to break down Tony Stark's walls and just when he is happy—

Just when he begins to _live—_

_There's a gunshot, and Peter crumples to the ground, in pain and bleeding and—_

He can't cry. He can't.

_It hurts._

He's being ripped apart, all at once, and the pain that turns his vision white doesn't stop Peter from noticing the red.

_God, there's so much of it—_

And he can't cry, he knows that.

He's Spider-Man, and— _and—_

Yet, he isn't.

_Because Spider-Man would have never been so stupid._ _Would have never gotten himself robbed. Would've fought back unlike— unlike—_

_He's Peter Parker. Not Spider-Man._

_He's pathetic._

And as he coughs, a frail sound, and watches the pavement he rests on turn a murky red, he wonders, almost deliriously that _maybe I had this coming._

Dying at midnight.

In civilian wear. By gunshots. Robbed and cold and so, so afraid—

_Like Ben—_

He's crying now, and he can't seem to stop. He breaks, falling over the edge and wanting it to all just _stop— for it to end—_

Peter wants May. He wants Ben and Ned and MJ and _Tony— He wants Tony to make it all okay again—_

Another sob tears its way out of his throat and he's curled into a ball now, crying and pleading for _anyone to save him._

Because just when he's happy, it's all being ripped away from him. And god, all Peter wants is just a hero to save him—

But he can't.

His backpack had been stolen away. He hadn't even thought to bring his suit or webshooters, and it was too dark for _anyone_ to be outside right now.

No, they'd be asleep and safe and _alive_ at home and—

 _'Oh,'_ he thinks. _'I'm dying, aren't I?'_

The thought rings out with such sudden clarity, it leaves him exhausted, a deeply rooted ache in his bones he can't quite shake.

He's struck with so much regrets— because he _can't— can't_ finish building that death star with Ned, _can't_ read the book MJ had lent him.

He hadn't even gotten a hug from Mr Stark yet _— hadn't— wouldn't be able to say goodbye to the people he loved—_

 _"I'm sorry—"_ He's sobbing now, screaming and screaming and he's _aware_ of the numbness that'd begun to set in.

And—

_"Goodbye."_

He closes his eyes.

Peter thinks that death feels a lot like falling asleep.


End file.
